


Fractured

by AnimusStuff (DarthAnimus)



Series: Gems in the Woods [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steven Universe Fusion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:30:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5015485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAnimus/pseuds/AnimusStuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Stanford and Stanley separated in the Gems in the Woods AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Side A

**Author's Note:**

> Stan and Ford are Gem siblings. For more info on the AU, check out the AU Blog: http://gemsinthewoods.tumblr.com/

It all started going wrong when Stan broke up with Carla. That was when his obsession with squaring had started. Ford had tried to be understanding. Stan Squared was confident, self-assured and was never weighed down by anything. It was comforting to be him and Stan probably needed that comfort.

What was so upsetting was that Ford wasn’t enough to comfort Stan, that Stan preferred to have Stan Squared instead of his twin brother be there for him. For Ford, having Stan had always been enough, but apparently Ford wasn’t good enough for Stan.

The one thing Ford had always been good enough in had been studying. But he didn’t have much time left to make sure he could get into a decent college, since a good one was out of his reach by now. He might have made it to a better college (the principal insisted that it would have been a sure deal) if he’d managed to complete his Science Fair project in time. But he would make due, he’d made the choice to spend the time with Stan instead.

Now if only Stan could appreciate it instead of asking for more.

“Come on, Ford, let’s form Stan Squared and go for a walk down the beach,” Stan was pleading to him, tugging on his arm while Ford sat at his desk. It was a common request and even though Ford knew Stan suggested walks because Ford enjoyed them, he was starting to hate the very idea of walks.

“I can’t, Stan, I need to study for my entrance exams,” Ford insisted, turning to give Stan a disapproving look.

“But you’re already so smart!” Stan whined. “Why do you need to study more?”

“Why do you need to be Stan Squared more?” Ford snapped back, voice rising a touch in his frustration. “All the time, more and more. Like it’s all about you!”

“It takes two to tango!” Stan snarled back. “Or Lindy Hop, whatever! The point is, you like being Stan Squared too!”

“No,” Ford growled, standing up from his seat. “I.” He turned to Stan, “Don’t!” He lifted his hands and pushed Stan away from him. “I get nothing out of it; it’s a waste of time!”

Stan’s face looked strange. Ford didn’t know what exactly caused it, if it was the push or his words, but Stan actually looked hurt and he was looking at Ford like he’d betrayed him in some way.

“I have to study,” Ford said, voice low, feeling hollow but determined to get his point across. “I want to get in college.”

“Right,” Stan said more to the walls than to Ford, sounding absent. He turned away from Ford. “I’ll leave you to it, then, wouldn’t want to waste your time.” He walked out of the room, the slam of the door the only sign of his mood.

Ford jumped at the slam and huffed. Honestly, couldn’t Stan be mature even once? He didn’t let it bother him, however, as he went back to his desk and picked up his book again. Things would work themselves out, they always did. They had to, when he and Stan shared a room and were constantly seeing each other.

When Ford looked up from his book, it was already past midnight. Stan hadn’t come back. Ford frowned to himself. Stan was out awfully late. He couldn’t have gone far, though; Ford hadn’t heard his car start up. No doubt Stan would be back soon enough.

Standing up from his seat, Ford stretched languidly. He didn’t need sleep necessarily, but regular rest did sharpen his faculties better than nothing else. He climbed into the wide bed in the room and laid down on his side. The empty side in front of him looked almost forlorn; Ford rarely slept without Stan in the bed with him.

It’ll be fine, Ford assured himself. No matter how mad he was when he got back, Stan wouldn’t be able to keep himself from sleeping in the comfortable bed. Doubtlessly Ford would wake up in the morning with his brother pressed close to him, the way they had been since they’d been born.

The memory of Stan’s comforting presence was what lulled Ford into sleep.

Ford woke up alone. Everything felt wrong, uncanny in a way that Ford couldn’t at first explain. He looked around the room. Things had been moved around. Some stuff was missing.

A distraught sound escaped Ford, but he didn’t know why. He stood up, legs still shaky from sleep, and hurriedly made his way out of his room. He looked around, desperately trying to find any sign of his brother. When he finally ran into something, it was his mother, sitting at the kitchen table, face flushed and wet from crying.

“Ma?” Ford asked hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”

His mother wailed, covering her face with her hands. Voice muffled, she sobbed out: “My little Stanley.”

Ford suddenly felt very cold and very alone. “What about Stanley?” Had something happened? Had something happened while Ford had been asleep, waiting for a brother who’d never come back?

There was no verbal response, but a piece of paper was pushed over to Ford over the table. Ford hurriedly grabbed it and read it over.

_I’m done wasting everyone’s time. I’m leaving and I won’t come back until I’m worth something._

_Stan_

That was _it_? No hint, no clues, nothing to tell which way he’d gone? He’d just run away?

That explained the turned over bedroom. At some point during Ford’s sleep, Stan had come back and packed his bags and left. God. Ford didn’t know if he could sleep again, knowing that he would have been there to stop Stan if he just hadn’t lain down for sleep he didn’t even really _need_. If he’d just stayed up all night, like he often did do. If he hadn’t gone to sleep, he’d still have his brother.

At least Stan wouldn’t starve; they didn’t really need food either. But there were so many other things that could happen, so many dangers that could harm him.

“Are you done blubbering?” Filbrick Pines’ harsh voice spoke as he entered the kitchen. “I told you, it’ll do the boy good to see the world a bit.” He then noticed Ford. “Ah, your mother tell you the news?”

‘News.’ That was what his father called the horrifying upheaval of Ford’s entire life. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded.

“You look like you’re going to start crying too, don’t even think about it.” Filbrick poked a finger in Ford’s chest in command. “This will be good for you too, get you two to stop being so clingy.”

Ford’s expression hardened and Filbrick stepped back, probably still remembering what happened the last time they had this conversation.

“Look,” the man said, lifting his hands to most likely encourage Ford to keep his distance. “You weren’t planning on taking him to college with you, were you? This isn’t much different from that.”

If Stan had stayed behind when Ford left, Ford would have still known where he was. It was a big difference. Never mind that before Stan had started pestering him about squaring all the time, the thought of separating from Stan hadn’t even crossed his mind once. After it he’d only considered it on a temporary basis, to get Stan to settle down.

“Maybe I was,” Ford growled low in his throat, walking past his father and back towards his room. He paused in the doorway and then, just because he knew it would annoy his father to no end, yelled, at the top of his lungs: “Maybe I was planning on dragging him along for the rest of our lives!” With that he stomped into his room and slammed door with enough force to doubtlessly chip the wood.

Ford didn’t bother checking for damage. He was going to get it in passive-aggressiveness by now anyway. Filbrick didn’t dare raise his voice or hand against Ford, no matter how “difficult” he’d been lately. Stanley had always been the well-behaved child, who never lit up like a bug-zapper and blew out every fuse in the house.

He knew it wasn’t his parents’ fault that Stan was gone, but Ford wanted to blame _someone_. He just needed to feel angry in lieu of being sad (it was all the same upset anyway) and, since Filbrick was so much against Ford being sad, he would have to put up with his anger.

What had Stan been thinking? What could have possibly chased him out of their home? Ford flopped down on the bed and hugged Stan’s pillow to his chest as he curled up into a steaming ball of anger.

It had all started going wrong when Stan broke up with Carla. Clearly things would have gone perfectly if Stan had never met Carla McCorkle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how about that habit Ford has for finding fault in everyone but himself? No matter the AU, the Stan Twins just can’t talk to each other properly.


	2. Side B

It all started to go wrong when graduation neared. Suddenly everyone was obsessed with thinking and talking about their future after high school. Stan didn’t have any plans. It wasn’t that he didn’t care; he just felt that he needed more time to decide. He didn’t think eighteen-year-olds were old enough to decide the entirety of the rest of their lives.

That had been Stan’s problem with Carla. Carla had started thinking about the future, while Stan had still been living in the now. He’d wanted to stay with Carla, keep dating her indefinitely, but Carla had wanted a definite ‘yes’ or ‘no’ in terms of the rest of their lives.

Carla had brought up the possibility of engagement, Stan had choked up. He’d immediately thought about Ford, told her he’d have to talk to him about it first.

The look on Carla’s face had immediately told him that they were over. He’d known she was going to say it, that she wouldn’t be able to be with Stan if it meant that Ford would always be a part of their relationship as well. She was dating _Stan_ , not Stan and Ford. And, well, Stan wouldn’t really want to stick with anyone who didn’t accept his brother anyway, who looked so disapprovingly at him for thinking about Ford every time something important happened.

Their break-up had been mutual, but it had hurt Stan deeply. Stan was pretty sure it had hurt Carla too; it wasn’t like they hadn’t liked each other anymore, that hadn’t changed. Their priorities just didn’t fit together.

He’d gotten so scared of it happening again. He’d known Ford was planning on going to college; he’d seen him studying hard and late. But, unlike with Carla, with Ford he had a quick solution to the feeling of uncertainty.

‘Squaring’ was what Ford called the thing they did, when they became more than the sum of themselves, when they became their combination squared. There was no uncertainty when they were Stan Squared. Stan Squared loved himself, because Stan and Ford loved each other, and he was solid and confident because their relationship was strong. Stan Squared was the living embodiment of the relationship between Stanley and Stanford. Stan had realized this long ago; squaring was the one thing he was really good at.

Unfortunately, it was hard to keep hold of that confidence when he was just Stanley again. Every time he and Ford separated, the insecurity would come back faster than the last time. Soon enough there was an almost constant anxiety in Stan’s mind about how Ford really felt about him.

Then Ford had refused to square with him. Stan had felt a sudden fear. ‘He doesn’t want me to know he hates me,’ he’d thought, horrified. Then he’d felt his gut clench when he realized that Ford had called their relationship a waste of time.

He’d heard it before, from others. Filbrick often enough told Stan that he was holding Ford back, that he should let Ford be his brilliant self and find something else to occupy his time. And he’d been listening in on that talk between the principal and Ford (the secretary hadn’t even batted an eye at that; she knew the Pines Twins were impossible to separate). Stan had heard what the principal had said, that Ford had missed the chance of a lifetime to get into the best college in the country because he’d been _wasting time_ with Stan.

Stan had been hurt, hearing it from others, but he’d gotten over it. But now Ford had said it too. Ford had made it clear that he agreed with their principal and father, that he considered Stan not worth his time. He was going to do important things, but Stan was keeping him from doing it.

At the time Stan had been mad at Ford. He’d felt betrayed and ready to break things. He’d run off before his powers over electricity would lash out. Stan had always been careful about that, more careful than Ford even. So he’d isolated himself, run off into a secluded spot to sit and think.

It had given Stan a chance to think. Stan hated the thought of harming his brother, even unintentionally. It was a horrifying realization, that he had been harming Ford all along.

Clearly, the only thing Stan could do was become better. He needed to become someone who _was_ worth Ford’s time, who Ford could care about. Stan thought Ford was the greatest, but apparently Ford thought Stan was the worst. Stan would have to improve himself. He needed to become someone who wouldn’t waste Ford’s time.

He’d become the greatest, Stan told himself, boasting to psyche himself up. He’d find something he could be good at and then he’d become the best. Then he could return to Ford, and he’d have something to bring into them squaring. He could bring something into Stan Squared that Ford couldn’t, so Ford could get something out of it too.

As soon as Stan returned home, entering his and Ford’s room, his resolve began to crumble. It could take Stan years to become worthy of Ford again. Could he really cut ties with his twin for who knew how long, not knowing how it would go? Never mind how much he’d upset his mother.

While he thought about this, Stan looked over to the bed. Ford was fast asleep. Stan stiffened.

Ford wasn’t exactly big on sleep. They weren’t entirely human and didn’t exactly need it, so Ford often thought he should spend his time more productively than sleeping. But now he was sleeping, comfortably even, by the look of things.

Maybe it wasn’t just Stan that was the problem. Maybe it was everything about them. Maybe Ford wanted to be more human instead of what they were. Humans didn’t create new beings by combining with their siblings, humans slept and went to college and Stan was starting to feel like he was beginning to hate everything about humanity, if it took his brother away from him.

Moving quickly but silently, Stan gathered all the essentials he thought he might need. He’d leave a note for Ma, explain why he was doing this. And he’d do it, too. He couldn’t become human, but he could still become worth something. All he needed was a special skill, something Ford couldn’t do. He’d find his own special skill, become the best he could be at it, and then he could share that skill with Ford when they squared.

Stan left home before daybreak, heart hollowed out and empty and mind full of heavy thoughts. He really wasn’t anything special, was he, despite being born something other than human? Shermy had always seemed to have innate knowledge of unknowable things; they were special, even if the nature of that special was undefined. Ford was so very bright and smart, special in a clear and defined way. But Stan was practically human with how decidedly unremarkable he was. Mediocre at best, worthless at worst.

Could Stan reinvent himself completely, in order to become something better than he was? Probably, it wasn’t like his present self was worth preserving. His own brother had deemed him worthless, how could Stan find anything worth preserving in his self? He’d change himself completely, become an entirely new person, and then he’d be special in every single way he could manage. He’d be interesting, he’d be worthy of being squared with.

Something pulsed deep within Stan himself. It was a strange sensation, not entirely unlike the feeling he got before he and Ford squared together. It was just much weaker. Curious, Stan pulled his car over, turned on the light and turned the mirror down to look at his reflection.

His skin was glowing a soft green, face shifting in a way that would have been painful if he’d been human. His bone structure was shifting, except that Ford had once babbled to Stan about how they didn’t have bones, which was why they’d never broken any limbs in their rough childhood games (and the fights they got into with the bullies).

An almost crazy thought came to Stan’s mind. Could he actually _change_ how he looked? Could he change himself in an obvious way that showed even on the outside? Stan frowned at his reflection and focused.

Stan had never really hesitated over his strange abilities, he’d never been scared or timid the way Ford could be. Because of that Stan actually had the control that Ford lacked. Doubtlessly everyone in the household still remembered the last argument Ford and dad’d had, when Ford had lit up like a beacon and blown out every fuse in the house.

Older. Stan knew he had to look older. No one would take him seriously looking like a high school kid. He should be taller too, with less baby fat on his face and less pudge around the waist. The glow faded away and Stan was left staring at a (cramped) reflection of the kind of man he’d sometimes fantasized of being.

Wow.

A wide grin spread on Stan’s face. He could become anyone he wanted now. He could _use_ this.


End file.
